Continuation of "Honesty", from Zevran's POV.
Intent
Zevran
He glances back over his shoulder as he walks away.
The templar is frowning at the snow, arms still crossed, cheeks slightly coloured, and absently pulling at his cloak and shivering slightly.
Zevran shakes his head, a smile crossing his face; he is still not completely sure what he saw in the man, but he recognises it from... a long time ago. His mind clouds at thoughts of Rinna, and he pushes them away.
With the man looming over him, a new fire burning in his eyes, trying to defend the mage, he made way for the... well, if not better, more passionate man. It seems the warrior finally has grown a backbone.
Ah, well. It is not difficult to walk away from what was simply an idle fancy.
The two Wardens stumble round each other, aware and yet unaware, like chicks freshly hatched from an egg; it is painfully obvious that the two are as pure as the white snow before him, and their clumsy half-advances are by turns humorous and frustrating. He is finding himself warming to them, the fellow with his easy smile and blunt wit, the mage who appears determined to pretend that she isn't a mage... Ah, he does like a feisty one. Even the Orlesian, with something sharp and bright hidden under the façade of the gentle sister. Bard, he'd assume - he has had dealings with her kind before, and they are like peacocks, always flaunting their feathers without realising it.
He shakes his head. These thoughts are dangerous, compromising.
Honestly, he is unsure whether to advise the Wardens on the matter or kill them in their sleep.
Perhaps both?